Brown Eggs Poem by Herbert Nehrlich

A gardener, who liked to spend
most days and also the weekend
out in his garden near the town
was in a way a real clown,
his humour served him happily
and the occasional enemy.

One Saturday while pulling weeds
before he'd plant the season's seeds,
he glanced toward the garden's fence
and was confronted with a sense
of dejà-vu when he discovered
that in the thistles someone hovered.

It was a man who spread his legs
and laid what seemed to be brown eggs.
The gardner ran to see his hens
(the fellow sat still by the fence)
and grabbed an egg and placed with care
it under cheeks that sat there, bare.

And then he hid behind the coop
until the man gave up his stoop.
He took the egg out of the shade
and said 'I can't believe I laid
a real egg, this is unreal
it does have wonderful appeal.'

Each day he came and crouched to lay
into the growing grass of May
his movements and each time he found
another egg, there on the ground.
He knew his troubles would be over
and bought a patch of luscious clover
invited all his friends and mates
from town and from some other states
to demonstrate his special powers.

The crowds had waited there for hours,
a band was playing 'Golden Goose'
and channel nine announced the news.
In view of millions there he sat
right near the fence and then he shat.

But out came for the world to see
in Nature's soft green gallery
a sausage of the usual kind.
The fellow, when he looked behind
and saw what graced the spot marked X
was poo and not the hoped for eggs
he suffered there and then a stroke
and did remain forever broke.